Photography
by Larka
Summary: Lily looks at some photos on the 31st October, 1981. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his universe all belong to JK Rowling**

**Photography**

She pulls out the box and slowly opens it, as if dreading what she might find. It is filled with photos, both muggle and wizard, frozen instants and stretched moments. She sees them finally as what they are: a group which when placed together create the picture of what happened yet, when alone are nothing but ornaments.

Click.

It is a wizarding photo. Four boys talk, unaware that they have been captured on film, unaware they have been filed in a box for years. Occasionally she thinks they do know, that they sneak peaks out of the frame when she isn't looking. But even after ten years in the wizarding world she does not know all its secrets, the type of things that are considered so normal they are almost natural to those born to the magic culture.

Click.

It's still, a muggle photo. A girl, her friend, stares at an essay blankly, trying to make the next sentence sound right. Her face is one of concentration and she is completely oblivious to the photographer, who smiles. She knows that the natural photos are the best, are the ones that capture the essence of the individual, rather than the stiff, posed set-ups and the forced smiles. In that way, the non-magic photos are better; if the subject discovers there has been a photo of them, their counterpart in the frame cannot be changed. They stay as they are, unaffected by the world outside the frame.

Click.

Another muggle photo. It is of her – one of her friends must have stolen the camera, or perhaps it is one they themselves took. She is nervous and is glancing off to the side of the frame; something on the photographer's left. It looks as though it was taken just before the exams began in her first or second year. Outside the photo, she grins; she had shown them. Some of them had thought that she'd only pass with acceptable marks, nothing out of the ordinary. They'd assumed her parentage gave her an immediate disadvantage. She remembers the huge feeling of satisfaction when she received her results, placing her in the top three students in the year. She can even remember the glee she had felt when _he_ had discovered her marks; his expression had been so dumbfounded, and yet somehow seemed to fit him perfectly. _This_ is what photos are for she realizes, to pull back memories of triumph and celebration, to let you relive the events of the moment.

Click.

Now, a wizarding picture. It's a snapshot of a Quidditch game, which one she does not know. Players wearing red and blue robes swoop past on their brooms, unable to pass the Quaffle, as it wasn't caught in the original frame. It's in photos like this that she wishes she had used muggle films. She'd never been particularly fond of Quidditch and now, since everything is moving so fast she can't even remember _why_ she took the photo. Its meaning has been lost forever, at least to her.

Click.

A wizarding photo. Inside the frame, the entire Gryffindor house is in the common room, some comforting each other, others sitting in shocked silence. She remembers this moment with painful clarity – it was the day the true realization had struck, when it was obvious the Dark Lord was a true threat to the magical world. Three families had been killed on the same day, and all three houses had had the skull and serpent figure floating above them – the figure that is now known as the Dark Mark. The horror that it causes is as real now as it was then, perhaps even stronger. She knows there is no real plan to stop him, that they are just fighting desperately to keep what is theirs. Frustrated, she pushes the photo away; she has come here to organise, not to linger on what is happening now. She walks over to her camera and sets it up to take the photo that will complete the collection. As she goes to start the timer there is a crash downstairs. She hears James shout, but cannot make out any words other than 'it's him'. That is more than enough to make her blood run cold. She stands frozen for a moment, then hears a second crash. Without even thinking, she knows it is James. With tears streaming down her face, only one thought remains – get to Harry. She can't think about James now, she must protect Harry. She runs to him, knocking the camera over, but that doesn't matter. All that matters is that Harry survives, that their hope survives. For now, she realises it is Harry, not Neville who will defeat the Dark Lord. She prepares to die, to save Harry in the only way she can think of.

Click.

A flash of green light.

Click.

Click.


End file.
